Slowly the little lump of boy stirs from the covers but as his eyes eventually open, he affectionately nudges closer in. He reaches over to my shoulder beckoning me to lean in and hug him.

Obliged, I gaze into his tiny face.

In front of me is the magical transformation from new born baby innocence to feisty pre-schooler; all in a blink of an eye.

The days go slow but the years speed past.

And as his long lashes flutter and tickle my cheek, the saying couldn’t hold any more truth.

Early mornings used to carry so much anxiety and stress from the night before. Little sleep caused by the constant worry of work and the heavy burden of trying to be the best in whatever corporate game I was playing at the time.

Terrified that motherhood was possibly not part of the game plan, I wrote in my journal countless pleas to the Greater Universe to grant me one of life’s greatest wishes; I prayed earnestly to the God I believed in for my one final request.

Then the gift of parenting was finally bestowed but the tempestuous journey of trial and error began. Learning to heed to natural instincts while keeping the harsh external judgments at bay. There are days that barely touch the surface of survival but holds the desperate hope that your children don’t detect your weaknesses or your flaws.

After many mornings of being asked, I slowly realized that it wasn’t about emotional scarring or prolonged hurt feelings.

There was actually nothing to feel guilty about.

That’s the stuff us adults – within our tarnished, cynical personal lives – automatically assume because no one ever is genuinely concerned about the state of our disposition anymore. Unless it’s for their own benefit, right?

But his little boy of mine was asking because of his own innocent intentions.

In the midst of chaotic parental duties, ensuring that the children are fed and clothed; keeping up with the milestones and thriving as I unnecessarily compare them to others; there was something far more important my son wanted me to know.

Stepping on the ferry, the day was as spectacular as how I was feeling. Decked in heels, my standard corporate black with a splash of colour clothes and immaculate make-up, dare I say, I was looking spiffy.

And it was a good thing my confidence levels were up because I was on my way to a job interview. My first in over 5 years.

Was I nervous?

Was I excited?

Nope and yeah, kinda, respectively.

As I’ve discovered, job searching is like finding the right boyfriend. The interviews are the dates as you discover whether there will eventually be the mutual commitment of employment.

While the odds were telling me I should’ve been at least a teeny bit jttery about applying for a corporate sales role with one of the world’s biggest technology companies (starting with “G”, ending with “e”), I consciously decided to go into that interview room without any expectations.

I just wanted to see what my stance would be these days in the world of the workforce. Were my past job skills still relevant and marketable?

While I have been interviewed more times than I care to count throughout my career this time was obviously very different.

I’m a mum now. And not only does that force a greater emphasis to achieving a work/life balance it significantly shuffles life’s priorities.

Work was once the proverbial be all end all; furiously working till the late hours closing 7 figure deals; constantly striving to be the best in the sales team; none of that matters to me anymore.

Yet, at the same token, I’m still consider myself a conscientious worker with a searing drive to bust balls. (Figuratively speaking, of course).

Ultimately, the interview was a precarious jump to see what the options are these days for a mum seeking employment:

Being Up Front

If an interview is limited to half an hour, there’s no time to faff around. Rather than running the risk of miscommunication or misconceptions, being honest and straightforward about my limited availability could only be appreciated.

On the flipside, was an opportunity to be assertive and suss out the potential employer’s flexibility.

I wasn’t available for full-time work now, but were they willing to start me off as part-time?

Was there a chance for job sharing?

How about working from home?

Knowing My Worth

I’m a big believer that if you’re confident in your self-worth, that will be reflected positively on your employers. I realized that just because I haven’t had a corporate job in over 4 years, my communication and marketing skills are still highly valuable.

And I made sure the interviewer knew that.

“If At First You Get Rejected”

With every interview, every recruiter I speak with and every rejection I get, I know that it’s ALL leading to something greater. All of it is part of the path to the job that will suit me and my values as a working mum.

And while nothing is EVER perfect, especially a job, there will be the ones that will comfortably sit with me, my family values and current stage of life.

It goes without saying that despite being identical, the twinlets have their own very different personalities.

For some reason though, this fact seems to mind boggle people sometimes. And I guess that’s understandable.

Even from a mother’s perspective, the twinlets aren’t dissimilar in many aspects, they’re also not at all similar in others. Does that make sense? Or have I completely thrown you off?

What I’m trying to say is that at this age, their differences in personalities don’t really present themselves until it comes to a particular situation.

Despite being the eldest (by a whole 2 minutes), Nunu tends to let his brother dominate a conversation.

K-Bear is Mr Chatterbox and when a question is asked to both of them, K-Bear will be the first to jump in with the answer.

It’s not that Nunu’s an introvert or shy. In fact, as Mr Sociable, he loves approaching other kids at the playground to introduce himself then ask them for their name. Sometimes, he’ll do it several times – to the same kid. The poor child being targeted will look at Nunu in bemusement (occasionally in annoyance ) as if to say, “Wait. Didn’t we just go through this???”

Ah, my son. He’s just practicing his social skills.

Problem is, there is a tendency of being overshadowed by his brother. And this has started to be a growing concern for us.

On the rare occasion when time and exceptional organization skills work harmoniously together in our household, we separate the boys for one on one time.

Sometimes we’ll take one to the shopping mall and the other to the airport. One of us might travel in the car while the other takes public transport. Whatever we do, it’s usually impromptu.

On Sunday, we both decided to catch a bus, albeit separate ones. The destinations hadn’t been decided.

We also hadn’t told the twinlets of our plans but minutes before we left the house, Nunu reached over to his brother and gave him a random hug. Kinda like a “Dude, this might be a bit tough for you, but you’ll be fine. Trust me, I’m your older bro” embrace.

I don’t particularly look out for these “twintuition” moments but when they do happen, I sit up to see and soak in how magical it is.

I took K-Bear and wasn’t quite sure where we would go.

Mr Surfer decided that he would just let Nunu lead him.

“I’m just going to let him tell me what he wants to do…”

After boarding the bus and realizing that his mother and brother weren’t coming along, Nunu asked his dad where we were.

“They’re catching a different bus,” was the reply.

“Oh, okay…” and nothing more mentioned.

K-Bear on the other hand, despite usually being the more confident one, held my hand very tightly when our bus arrived. It then occurred to me that maybe, he relies on his brother to be that pillar of confidence for him.

He constantly asked for his brother and his father for the first five minutes then as he kept holding my hand, he slowly slouched into his seat and fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Nunu was having a ball. Time on his own with his dad all to himself and potato chips to boot! For this twin, what wasn’t there to love? More importantly, what or who was there to miss?

As it worked out, we both ended up doing the same thing, catching the bus then the train to Circular Quay. Both had an ice cream and a wander, checking out the ships and ferries.

A quick mobile phone conversation, we decided to meet up but not tell the boys.

The look on the boys’ faces when they first spotted each other could’ve melted my heart like fire to candle wax.

As the twinlets grow into active, independent little boys, I see the need to separate them on a regular basis. It doesn’t need to be for long, massive periods of time.

Just enough to give them the space they need to help discover themselves and become even more confident in who they are.

Because with twins, it’s a given finding strength in numbers. But it takes a conscious effort to build the power of being one.

Just as I was getting settled into the evening, ready to enjoy some peace and quiet, Mr Surfer called me over in the kitchen. It was time; that unavoidable, most dreaded task of clearing out the shed. And as with any of these overwhelmingly massive chores, tackling the overcrowded space corner by corner is the only practical approach.

We’ve been talking about throwing out which of the twinlet’s baby clothes for a while now. And as they get older, the pile of what’s been outgrown just gets higher.

Begrudgingly, I walked into the kitchen to sort out the garbage bags. I promised myself I’d be stern; Throw out most of what is no longer used and only hang on to a few pieces as memorabilia.

But whom am I kidding?

I am the world’s worse hoarder. Why? Because I am the world’s soppiest sentimental wuss.

Scents; songs; a certain time of the day; all have their way in setting off the nostalgic button in my consciousness and I’m left floating on a myriad of memories. Short, yet significant snapshots of yesteryears.

Sorting through the bibs, newborn onesies, tiny booties, I grabbed items like I was shopping through a bargain bin.

I seem to impress Mr Surfer how I was able to pick up a piece of clothing and immediately recall which relative and friend gave it to us.

Some stuff I held tight and close to my face, trying to get a whiff of any new baby smell remnants.

I made sure we kept everything the boys wore during their time in NICU; the handme down onesies that were still too big despite being size 00000; the ugly singlets stamped with “NSW Health” in prison red, the blankets that kept them warm and close together in the nursery while we weren’t there with them.

Wondering how we got from size “Prem” to now, it was inevitable I got teary.

It’s a safe bet to say that those who say that raising twins is just the same as raising 2 children “close” in age don’t have twins of their own.

Take for example, toilet training.

Having the twinlets as very different individuals and personalities, the “High Five”, squeeze-a-brown-shark-out-get-a-toy technics have only worked for one.

The other insists that doing his business is no one’s business.

And that’s fine. We’re happy to go along with Nunu and when he’s good and ready to make the transition from Lightening McQueen Pull ups to Thomas the Tank undies, we’ll readily be there.

I took the boys to their favourite park the other week.

All was going smoothly when K-Bear insisted he needed to go to the toilet. Having just been to do a discreet wee outside the park fence 5 minutes earlier, I knew he was talking about dropping the brown bomb.

Logistics can be a real bitch at times like these. Trying to drag the other twin to come along was not only tough, but time crucial.

Crossing his legs, K-Bear desperately cried, “Mama…poo, poo!”

Finally, I was able to convince Nunu to get down from the equipment to follow his brother, albeit begrudgingly. I don’t blame him. Would you give up the slide to watch your brother take a crap?

I took the boys back to the quiet corner just outside the park. Legs spread wide in a perfect yoga triangle pose, K-Bear started to do his business.

Realizing that I somehow needed to clear up the mess, I pulled out the baby wipes and made a little nest where the poo could land.

Despite the few flies we attracted, all was going as well as could be expected.

Then, I noticed that up the road – 10 cars away from mine – a parking ranger was doing the rounds. I suddenly panicked realizing that I hadn’t put in any money in the meter. If I didn’t take drastic action, I was going to be slapped with an $88 parking ticket.

“Finished, sweetie???” I failed at trying to sound calm.

“No, Mama…”

More flies started gathering.

“Shoo fly!” K-Bear said, slightly distracted.

“Sweetie, are you finished, NOW???”

My boys are only 3 but they’re not stupid. They knew their mum was frantic.

While his brother plopped away, Noah was still playing near by but was starting to get agitated and impatient.

With my eyes darting back and forth, surveying my son’s poo situation and seeing that the dreaded parking man was only 10 metres away from my car, I knew I was done for.

“Okay, Mama. Finished!”

Quickly I scrambled up the bark and the soiled wipes, trying to wrap it into a neat parcel. Then, wiping my boy’s bum in Olympic record time, I swung our massive back pack around my shoulders, bolted to the bin to then head for the parking meter.

Not even thinking about my boys, they started running behind me.

I looked like Dora the Explorer with her own little troop of Boots and Diego, running behind her.

Vamanos!!!

“Mama, wait for me! Wait for me!” the boys cried out.

For any innocent by passer, I surely would’ve looked like a fugitive, crazy mum, escaping double trouble.

Still ignoring the twinlets’ cries to slow down, I made it to the parking meter just as the nasty parking ranger booked the car in front of me.

A friend of mine recently had her third baby. Well, if you call 10 months ago recent. 3 girls under the age of 6 and a husband who frequently travels overseas, she’s snowed under with the all consuming life of a mother; preparing meals, taxiing to and from schools and daycare centres, ensuring the household is running smoothly.

Without a moment’s rest, she’s constantly got a baby on her hip and a toddler wrapped around her legs begging for equal attention.

We finally spoke for the first time in months the other day and caught onto the topic of general health checks. Sadly she couldn’t recall the last time she went to the doctor’s for her own wellbeing and not the children’s.

“You know, I haven’t even had time for a haircut,” she sighed.

“No, no, no…that’s not good enough!” was my adamant reply.

But truth be told, I completely understood her current standing. As much as I wanted to give her some advice, I knew it’s not what she was looking for.

Leading a busy and hectic life as a mum, we often forget our own needs. And there’s usually no one to remind or push us to do something good for ourselves.

Whether that’s to go to the hairdresser’s, get a massage or even a trip to the café for a dose of caffeine and a simple hour of peace.

Entering the third year of motherhood, I’ve become a strong advocate in the belief that if I’m not in my best physical and mental health, I’m doing my family a disservice.

I need to look after me, in order to look after them.

Specifically covering female cancers such as breast, ovarian, cervical as well as cancer of the uterus, vagina, vulva or fallopian tubes, AIG have developed Wellwoman Insurance aimed at women to help reduce financial stress and increase a sense of security of the future.

Wellwoman is not an income protection plan, nor is it an alternative to private health insurance. It does however offer a one-off payment (between $25,000 and $45,000 depending on what level you select) to help with various costs (mortgage repayments, childcare, even a holiday) following diagnosis. A premium can start at just $9.95 a month.

There I sat. Cross-legged. Tucked away in the tiny corner of the “Pregnancy and Babies” section at the massive Borders bookshop.

8 weeks pregnant and none the wiser, I scoured through every book in the shelves, desperately searching for information – anything to get me through the next 32 or so weeks.

Despondently, I found that my pile of “must buy” books wasn’t very high compared to the ones I thought were utterly useless.

They all held relevant information, albeit in a clinical, text book manner.

However, I was on a hunt for the truth. I had some desperately pending questions that needed answering. I wanted to cut to the pregnancy reality chase.

“How much is this going to hurt ?”

“How supportive will Mr Surfer actually be?”

“Will my boobs ever be the same again?”

And beyond my own looming curiosity, there was the stuff I was completely clueless about but was inevitably a part of early motherhood: the puke, the poo (and that’s just your own), cliquey mothers’ groups and Nazi-type judgmental midwives.

Along side the humour, she also shares well-researched, thought provoking historical facts about pre and post natal procedures, concepts of birthing and even the transition of the paternal role during child birth. (Apparently in the 60’s, it was thought to believe that a father being present at a birth could turn him gay! Something about labour being so traumatic, it would obviously turn any husband off from his perfect wife. Hmmmm…)

I will admit. When I was first asked to review Monica’s book, I blindly thought that there was nothing left to scare me about the blood and gore of having a baby. After all, I had TWO at a time.

But this book’s not about that. It’s about finally opening up the taboo topics for discussion.

It was the exact book that I was hoping to find that day in the bookshop.

Whether you’re a mum of six or wondering what’s (really) in store when you’re about to have a baby, I highly recommend that you grab a copy of “Things I Didn’t Expect (when I was expecting).

The more we speak about the real concerns of pregnancy and early days of motherhood, the less stigmas we’ll have in our modern society.

I have a copy to giveaway to one lucky reader!

All you have to do is:

Leave a comment, answering the question: “When someone you knew/ you were pregnant, what did you/they experience that was completely unexpected?”

About Me…

Indonesian-born, Grace spent extensive time living and working overseas, primarily in Japan. She now resides in Sydney where she is mum to identical twin boys and wife to an avid surfer. While she has happily replaced office life with motherhood, Grace has discovered that a 10 year career in corporate sales and being fluent in 3 languages is futile when dealing with toddler tantrums and singing “The Wheels On The Bus”